


Fuckin' Death Sticks

by artbabe



Category: My Babysitter's A Vampire
Genre: Angst, Cigarettes, Hurt/Comfort, Last Kiss, M/M, Post-Break Up, Smoking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-12
Updated: 2021-03-12
Packaged: 2021-03-18 22:53:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29990040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/artbabe/pseuds/artbabe
Summary: “Those fuckin’ death sticks are gonna kill you one day,” Benny murmurs sarcastically as he sits on the bench next to Rory. Smoke escapes his pretty pink lips. God, he missed this.
Relationships: Jesse Black/Rory Keaner (mentioned), Rory Keaner/Benny Weir
Comments: 2
Kudos: 2





	Fuckin' Death Sticks

**Author's Note:**

> ** warning for smoking **  
> just a quick fic i cranked out in a few hours instead of studying for the sat !!  
> shoutout to @keithundead (as usual) for giving it a read-thru! go check out batz fics pls theyre all amazing <3

“Those fuckin’ death sticks are gonna kill you one day,” Benny murmurs sarcastically as he sits on the bench next to Rory. Smoke escapes his pretty pink lips. God, he missed this.

Rory glances up at him. “Vampire. I can heal myself.” He hadn’t caught the joke. It’s one of the adorable things Benny liked about him. It’s one of the adorable things Benny missed about him. Benny slips the pack out of Rory’s jacket pocket, because of course he still knows which pocket they’re in. Rory raises an eyebrow and hesitantly holds out his lighter.

“Witch. I can heal myself, too.” 

“Witch,” Rory repeats, nodding slowly. It feels right, being a witch. Being an Earth Priest or Priestess like his Grandma is too formal, comes with too many rules against “meddling in human affairs”. Witches get the best of every part of the magic world, in his opinion. “That’s sick, Benny.” He takes another drag as Benny’s breath gets caught in his chest. He forgot how nice his name sounded in Rory’s mouth. 

Benny coughs, warm and dry. They sit in silence, taking drags and thinking. Benny tries to rest his hand on Rory’s thigh like he used to. It just doesn’t fit right anymore. The cold, damp air creeps into Benny’s skin, and he lifts his hands to pull his jacket tighter around his chest. Rory flicks the lighter on and off and on and off and on and off. 

“Jesse left.” It breaks through the silence. Benny inhales more smoke. “I don’t know why I thought it would last longer.” His chest tightens. He breathes it out. 

“I’m sorry.” It’s harder to say than it should be. 

Rory drops the filter on the ground and presses it down with the toe of his boot. He used to hate litter. Everything is so empty now. “You don’t have to be.”

“I know, but I’m trying to be. It’s his loss, anyway.” It feels scripted. Just a cliche line that he picks up off the ground like so many losers did before him and so many will after. 

“Was it yours?” The question hangs in the air. It’s not fair of him to ask. Rory’s hands rub together, as if to fend off the cold. It’s just an old habit; vampires don’t feel the cold. Maybe they don’t feel anything. 

Rory sighs and plucks Benny’s forgotten cigarette out of his hand. He can never finish one by himself, anyway. Rory’s dry lips are so gentle on the end of it. It reminds Benny of the first time he felt those lips against his. They were both so young. So full of hope. And now it’s all just empty. 

Rory holds the cigarette out to Benny, and he takes it with his fingertips. “You always will be.” He takes a slow drag. “My biggest loss.” He sighs. His chest is warm but his hands are cold. He should have worn gloves today. His hands might not have been so shaky. Maybe. 

The air is empty other than Benny’s smoke-filled breath. Rory lays his head on Benny’s shoulder, another old habit. Benny hopes he never gets rid of it. He can smell Rory’s pine needle shampoo and the stale lingering of every drug he’s ever inhaled while wearing his hoodie. Benny breathes him in. He needs this. He needs more than this. 

He cups Rory’s cold, soft jaw with unsteady hands, careful not to let the still-burning cigarette end touch his precious skin. The kiss is long and hard. It tastes like smoke and blood and coffee. Rory doesn’t resist, doesn’t seem to know how, but he doesn’t quite reciprocate Benny’s passion either. He pushes through the heartache, pushes deeper into Rory, pushes into a world where this is all that exists and he can finally be happy again. 

But it ends far too quickly, as good things tend to do. “I’m sorry.” He wants more. He needs more. He needs Rory to need him. Benny rests his forehead against Rory’s chest, soaking in what would have been warmth if Rory was human. “It’s just the death sticks rotting my brain, I guess.” He sniffs. Rory is holding the cigarette between his pretty fingertips and Benny is holding Rory’s arms, more muscular than he remembers. It’s too hard to let go. 

“Don’t be. I’m the one who fucked things up.” It’s odd to hear such a profane word fall from his once-innocent lips. Benny can feel Rory’s breath in his hair. It’s gonna smell terrible when he lets go. Rory’s empty hand rubs against Benny’s broad back. He knows that the longer he stays, the harder it’ll be to go. He knows that he’s going to stay as long as he can. Maybe longer.

He just wants to go back. Back to a time before Jesse swooped in and broke them apart. Shattered Benny into a million pieces. Ruined Rory. They sit almost perfectly still, Benny’s breaths warming the space between them.  _ I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. _

“Love me again,” His knuckles are white against Rory’s black hoodie sleeves, “Please, Rory. Please.” He feels Rory shift to squish the remains of the cigarette under his foot, then rest a gentle chin on top of his head. The air around them is so cold. So empty. 

Rory doesn’t speak for a moment, and Benny almost hopes he never will. He knows whatever comes next will tear him apart again. 

“I don’t think I ever stopped. But I don’t think it’ll ever be the same, Benny.” His name sounds heavy in Rory’s mouth. He presses his face harder into Rory’s chest and squeezes his arms tighter. Wishing. Hoping. Begging.

Rory seems to understand. His lips land in Benny’s fluffy hair and don’t move. Benny’s throat burns, probably just from those god damn death sticks. He’s not gonna cry. The last time he cried over Rory, he swore it would be the last time he would ever cry over Rory. 

**Author's Note:**

> tysm for reading! if u enjoyed please leave kudos/comments or hmu on tumblr @art-babe <3


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